Cardinal Sins
by yararebird
Summary: (Or: A Narcissist and a Borderline Walk Into a Salon) They were a match made in Heaven. Or Hell. Good thing it wasn't meant to be. Dirty thoughts. Errands. Coc-au-vin. Pre-series. Romance but not romance. Actually pretty dark. Sacrilege. Adult Situations. Language. Can we say Friendship and Romance ironically? Nay, I know not seams...
1. Errand Boy

Cardinal Sins

(Or: A Narcissist and A Borderline Walk Into a Salon)

Judy Martin enjoyed dressing for outings of a personal nature. Rarely did she wear anything other than a habit these days, so when she did, she found herself strangely excited. Today she dressed for Boston polite society, needing her 'day off' to do some shopping. Days off were few and far between, and typically interrupted by work when they did occur. An escape from Briarcliff's confines was the only way to ensure true peace.

She sighed as she tucked her curls, pinning them into order. She'd taken the time to set her hair this morning and discovered it badly needed a trim. So a visit to the salon was on her agenda. Also - she glanced at the list on her dresser as she fastened her brassiere - a moisturizer, powder, aaand (why couldn't she read her own damn writing) pasta? No, not pasta. She tsked. Paste! Toothpaste.

She shimmied a white satin slip over her hips (not her favorite red today) and snapped open its garters. Tried to remember the last size she'd purchased in stockings. She needed new black ones. Had worn holes or runs in nearly every pair beneath her habit. She blew a loose curl out of her eyes (would have to fix that) and unrolled a nude pair of silks. Were these 22 inches? They never quite felt long enough. Maybe 26 inches today.

Sitting on her bed, she affixed garters with brisk efficiency. A quick nail up the back to straighten her seams. Fine. 26 inches.

She rose and jotted the note on her list, leaning on her dresser. A knock sounded at her door and she felt a momentary panic. "Who is it?"

"It's me!" A little voice called softly.

Mary Eunice. "Just a second." What could the little sister possibly want? Jude had no intentions of sacrificing this particular day off. She had too much to do. She stepped quickly into her dress, a dusk blue affair in heavy jersey, cracked the door. "Come in, come in," she hissed.

Eunice scampered in, blinking quickly at Jude. "Sister!"

"What?" She turned, gesturing to her zipper. "Do us a favah, Mary Eunice."

"Oh. Um…" It was a rather long zipper. "There."

"Thanks."

"You look beautiful!" Eunice blurted.

Jude paused, blushing. She took a deep breath and smoothed her hips. "Thank you, Sistah." She waited, but it seemed Eunice was just going to stare at her now. "Did ya need something?"

"Oh! Yes! The Monsignor sent me to ask if you were going out today, and if you were, if you could take some things to the post office."

Jude rolled her eyes, turning to collect her purse. "Of course." At the mirror, she pinched her cheeks, touch of powder, and applied a conservative mauve lipstick. Straightened the silver buttons at the edges of the dress' boatneck. "What about you, little Sister? Need anything while I'm out?"

"No, thank you, Sister." Eunice was leaning on the dresser now, too. Just watching Jude.

She felt...a little awkward. "Well, then." She nodded. "I will just uh - be off, then."

"Yeah." Eunice nodded absently, still staring. "You're too beautiful to be a nun."

Jude blinked. "...what?"

Mary Eunice looked momentarily horrified. "Nothing!" She snapped. Backed to the door. "Be careful, Sister!"

Jude grabbed her coat, following a flustered Mary Eunice down the hall. Her heels clicked when she diverted at the Monsignor's office, knocking but finding the door open. She pushed in, quietly, but he was not in. Probably stepped out for a moment. She saw three rather sizable packages stacked on his desk and pinched the bridge of her nose. Wondered if she could perhaps just get Frank to help her carry them down…

She was leaning over to read the labels when: "Is there something I can do for you, madam?"

She turned and there stood Timothy, stuck in his door obviously wondering what a strange woman was doing in his professional retreat. Jude witheld a smile, but barely. "I was under the impression there was something I could do for you, Father."

"Jude?" His hand went to his mouth. "Sister Jude."

"Yes, Monsignor."

"I apologize. You were...turned away." Was he staring at her legs? She shifted one experimentally and watched his eyes track the movement. Pursed her lips. The smile was becoming harder to control.

A hand on the stack of packages. "Are these the parcels ya need me to pick up, Father?"

"The parcels." He murmured. Suddenly remembered she had a face. "Yes. Those. Ah - you may need some help wit them to the car. I didn't realize -"

"I'll have Frank bring 'em down."

She headed for the door. "No!" He was quick to move. "I'll um...I'll carry them down."

"Thank you, Father." But she took the smallest from his stack so that he could see his way. They kept a brisk pace headed downstairs. "Through the kitchen," she said. "I try to avoid going out front in plain clothes."

But she'd already seen all the heads turning. Rare to see anyone in these halls who wasn't a nun or a patient. "I see," Timothy said. "You look quite...different. I must say."

"Well. I suppose we all do...underneath it all, Father." She let that sink in, smiling when he nearly tripped over her words.

Timothy settled his boxes on the front seat, watched Jude settle in behind the wheel. "Will you be able to get them into the post office, Sister?"

"I can get some assistance if I need it, Father." She assured him. "Thank you."

"Perhaps…" He peered up, over the hood of the car and around. "Perhaps I should accompany you. There may not be anyone available to help you."

Her heart leapt. But she played it cool. "No, Father! I have so many errands, and -"

"Well, I could probably do with the outing, myself, Sister."

"But - I'm going for a haircut! I don't know how long -" He sat in the passenger seat, tossing packages into the back "- it might take them. I don't want to keep you from anything important."

"Not at all." He seemed really pleased, actually. A handsome smile cracking his typically serious face. "I suppose I could stand a trim, as well."

"Oh." They stared at each other for just a moment before Jude started the car. She'd just shifted into drive when she felt the lightest brush against her cheek. Even that being a jolt, she turned sharply to see an almost bashful Monsignor retracting his hand.

"Apologies," he murmured. "There is an escapee." At her blink, he gestured to her head. "Your hair. Unfortunately, it seems I've made it worse." His hand lingered. "May I?"

Waiting for the guards to open Briarcliff's massive gates, she could only lean slightly toward him. Didn't trust her voice. His touch lulled her eyes closed. He curled the golden frond around his finger. Draped it over her ear. Her body launched gooseflesh when she felt him tucking the strand into the pinned chignon at the nape of her neck.

The gates creaked open with her eyes. He was still staring at her. "Thank you, Father," she breathed.

"Perhaps I missed my calling."

She drove to the end of the drive, stopping for traffic. "What?"

"Should have been a hair stylist." She laughed. A genuine smile of her own. It felt very nice. He sobered. "You really do look quite different, Jude."

She turned her attentions to the road as she drove, but was still quite eager to bathe in his attentions. "We've established that, Father." A quick glance. He was blushing. "But...I've heard that in many circumstances, different is good."

"Quite." He agreed easily. Seemed content to enjoy the ride.

And also he might have been staring at her legs again.

He'd caught himself staring at her legs again. Looked back to the highway. "Rather busy this morning," he commented.

"I suppose everyone's headed to work."

She'd spoken, which gave him an excuse to look at her again. When he'd said 'different,' he'd meant 'beautiful.' Who was this woman who was Sister Jude most of the time? Timothy found it difficult to reconcile. Her eyes never looked that warm or brown at Briarcliff. Maybe it was the lighting. Or the blue of her dress.

A dress that was slim on a decidedly lovely form.

He chewed at his lip. And what the hell was he doing? Abandoning his work on a whim to stare at a Sister of the church? Exactly. This was the kind of thing that got priests in trouble, after all. He'd worked with Jude for nearly two years now. Remembered the very day he'd met her.

Mother Superior's cold austere office. There had been three sisters for him to choose from. He'd been very specific with Mother Claudia: maturity, responsibility, discipline, hard-working. He hadn't _specified_ non-distracting, but it was a given.

The first sister was right out. Too soft. Her handshake was limp and her shoulders rather slouchy. She'd mumbled too soft things that he hadn't really heard.

Perhaps the second sister had been better. Near to his age. Strict with the novices. An excellent record of service. But she was also rather...pretty. Bright blue eyes and lips a bit too pink. Fair, porcelain skin. It would never do. Not for the amount of male patients, orderlies, security guards and (admittedly) himself.

And then he'd met Jude. He'd been most immediately struck by her build. She was tall. Slim. He could tell she managed an imposing stature. She had a genuine handshake. Firm, but not obnoxious. Her smile was tight. Guarded. And her eye contact was uninterrupted. She'd spoken with authority.

And Jude certainly wasn't ugly, per se. But her face was carved as though from ice and he could see her dark eyes' potential for business. They'd talked for some time. Jude appreciated his vision. Respected it. She'd seemed almost worshipful in her steady gaze. She'd promised him support. She'd asked for the responsibility of making Briarcliff grow.

And that gaze, that idolizing - it was addictive. He was sold on the nun, and he hadn't once regretted the decision. If he'd learned anything from his own experience with her, and the testimonies of staff and patients, it was that Jude was a ball-buster.

And she cooked like a gourmet.

But now. Suddenly. She was this...woman. With this...hair that was golden and shiny and slipped like satin over his finger. She'd styled it tucked, but the fullness suggested it was long. He wondered what it looked like completely unencumbered. Uncovered. How his hands would feel tangled impossibly -

"Monsignor?"

"Tress?"

She did a doubletake. "What?"

"Yes?"

"Oh." She looked pleased. "Well, we can pick up whatevah you like at the market today."

He'd missed something important while imagining how far up the seams on her stockings stretched. "I'm sorry, Sister. I missed your question I'm afraid."

Her almost-knowing grin was a bit discomfiting. "I asked if you'd like me to cook for ya tonight."

"Ah." He rubbed flush out of his neck. His collar was dreadfully hot. "Perfect. Then the answer is still yes."

He needed to get hold of himself. Completely irrational, anyway, latching onto the woman like this. Stocking seams… He'd need hours of prayer for this.

They were terribly long legs, though. He wondered if they'd wrap all the way around -

"Father."

They were stopped. He gathered his wits. "Right." Parcels. In the busy post office, he saw the looks she got and felt peculiarly...possessive. Not envious. Envy was a sin. Besides, it's not as if the mens' looks would do them any good. She was a devoted woman of the cloth.

Devoted to him. To Timothy Howard's cloth. His mind immediately flicked to his sheets. Golden hair spilling across them. And he had to cover a desperate groan with a cough. "Alright?" Jude asked.

"Fine." They mailed the parcels, Jude doing most of the talking. She was really quite easy with people. Chatty. Lively. _Flirtatious._ Which he found disconcerting. Or perhaps again, it came down to cloth. His starched collar of the Priesthood versus her all too approachable swirling skirt.

His fingers itched to touch it. Not even her. He would settle for just the skirt.

Back out in the crisp October air, he looked up the crowded street. Just outside the business district of Boston was a bustling retail community. "We can leave the car here, Father. Everything is within walking distance, unless ya have a more ambitious destination." Jude was pulling on a pair of calfskin gloves.

"Walking is good." He replied, peering down the sidewalk. "Could I interest you in a coffee, Sister? I would rather like one."

"Sounds nice."

He resisted the temptation to take her arm in his. Highly inappropriate. Besides, she was in her element. A shocking pale blue surprise against a cement and glass backdrop. Timothy resented it in some small way. He'd always felt so very distant, himself. Separate from the humanity around him. Above it, looking down. Perhaps it was why the church had made sense. God was his calling, not the city.

So what did that say about Jude?

Outside the coffee shop, she fought a gust of wind to open the door. Timothy caught hold of it just above her head and the faintest hint of something floral. He recognized it as just Jude.

They sat at a tiny table near the shop's window, elbows and hands perilously close to touching. Timothy took his coffee black, while Jude sweetened hers and creamed it to a caramel color. "Father, if you're needing to get back to the hospital, I can arrange my hair for next week."

"No." He steepled his palms. "As I said, I could use a trim, myself." He studied her openly. That same stray curl had loosed itself again. He didn't touch it this time. Just watched it flirt with her jaw. She looked at her coffee. At her gloves on the table. At the pictures on the walls. Anywhere but at him. He smiled softly at the realization. "Tell me, Jude. Are you...happy at Briarcliff?"

She considered. "I believe so. I have a purpose there. And a sense that we're accomplishing things."

"Good."

"There's more we have ahead of us, of course."

"Always." She shifted in her chair, crossing her ample legs in precarious real estate. He cleared his throat. "I thank you for letting me accompany you today. I hope I haven't intruded on your precious time off."

"I enjoy yar company, Father." She answered solemnly, met his eyes briefly. It gave him a near surge of power. "I just worry I keep you from important work."

"Do you think I'm really that important, Sister?" He laughed. "Would that I were. We would have much more accomplished by now than we have."

"You know what I mean." She bit her plump bottom lip. Released it. He swallowed. "Ya have a full plate."

"As do you."

A shrug. Thin muscles moved over her clavicles, causing shadows in the recesses where his fingers would fit. Those bones looked so fragile. "I've got help. Mary Eunice has gotten much more sure in her position. She works hard."

"She also adores you."

Her eyes were surprised. "Why d'you say that, Father?"

"One can easily tell. Her body language. The way she practically curtsies to you." He chuckled. "I meet her nearly every morning in the kitchen preparing your coffee." He pointed to her cup. "Just like that. And a bun. Your newspaper."

Suddenly Jude flushed. Looked concerned. "Father, I assure ya I would nevah make Sister Mary Eunice my errand girl. She just started -"

"She started doing those things to please you, Jude." He touched her hand where it rested on the table. She pulled it away as if burned and his thrill intensified. "She simply looks up to you. Some might even mistake it for fear. Probably admires your strength. Your authority." He let his eyes fall just enough. "Your womanhood."

Jude's hand went to her throat. "Well. I suppose I admired Mother Claudia in such a way."

"You seek to please me, Jude. Do you not?" Color rose magnificently in her cheeks. "Errands, like today. Dinners. And I've certainly never worked with a more efficient and thorough partner. You quite frankly amaze me." This time he curled his fingers around the hand near her empty cup. "God blessed me by sending you to me. I felt it when I first laid eyes on you."

Her eyes grew wet and he felt the beginnings of an erection. He brushed his thumb across her knuckles and she cleared her throat. "We should go if we're gonna get haircuts. May be a wait. I'll um...I'll just be a moment." She extracted her hand and made for the restroom. He watched her hips sway.

"Judy!" The proprietor of the small salon knew her well, and Jude was grateful for the familiarity. Coffee with the Monsignor had left her uncomfortably uncertain. A feeling she abhorred.

"Hello, Kay!"

"Ya brought a friend, I see." Kay knew that Jude was a nun. Knew her position at Briarcliff. Knew her penchant for dark chocolate and that she had a significant cowlick just over mid-forehead. All the important things.

"Yes. Uh -" Jude turned. "This is the Monsignor Timothy Howard. He's um...needing a trim today."

"Fathah." Kay ducked her head as she extended a flattered hand. "It's an honor to have ya."

"The honor is mine Miss…"

"Oh, just Kay!" Jude recognized the charm working on her friend. Timothy's handsome features and that British accent. She remembered her own original impressions. The flutter in her belly the first time he held her gaze. The flutters she took to bed every night. Knew that Kay was as conflicted as she had been: how does a man like this devote his life to God when there was such flesh to be enjoyed at his disposal?

"And Judy? What about you today. I see you got a flyaway, there." Kay spun her chair, patting the seat. "Ladies first." She winked at the Monsignor.

It was a slow morning, obviously, and the three had the salon to themselves. Timothy sat in a chair directly behind the two women. Crossed his legs and seemed keen to watch. Jude situated herself in the chair and hung her purse from the arm. "I haven't seen ya in so long, Kay. I'm afraid it's gone a bit of a mess."

Kay's plump fingers were briskly releasing Jude's coif. "Judy, what have I told ya about all these pins? They break it off! And ya hair's so fine, already." She tisked, pulling the freed locks down Jude's back. The longest hung to her shoulder blades. "More pins in here than a bowling alley…"

Timothy laughed and Jude caught his eyes in the mirror. He saw the catch and raised his hands apologetically. "Bowling alley," he repeated.

"Kay here is a regulah barrel of laughs." Jude allowed.

"I oughta be in Vaudeville!" Kay chuckled, turning to retrieve her tools.

"Your hair's quite long, Sister." Timothy murmured.

"Quite different?" Jude asked, looking into her lap.

"Quite." When she glanced back to the mirror his eyes were intently watching her expression.

Self-consciously, she pushed at her now bushy curls. "Well," she said quietly. "Kay will fix that."

If felt wonderful, someone playing with her hair. She missed it. Simple human contact. The tickling, soothing tug and twists of Kay's fingers lulled her. "Judy ya might lose about two inches today, hon. Are ya still conditioning like I told ya to?" She wrapped Jude in a satin cape.

"There's not always time, really."

"Fathah." Kay was combing and snipping already. "I'm gonna have ta ask ya in the name of the holy ghost to make sure yar sister here has time to condition her hair. Otherwise I'm just gonna bob it and call us even."

"Two inches seems...rather a lot." Timothy said.

Jude was surprised to see some minor concern on his face, but he'd left himself wide open for Kay's sharp secular jokes. "You'll nevah hear those words from a woman's mouth! Am I right, Judy?" Laughing boisterously, she slapped Jude's shoulder. Jude hid her heavily blushing face behind her hand. "Oh, shit!" Kay clamped a hand over her own mouth. "Hell, Judy, I'm sorry. I forget yar a nun! And Fathah...forgive me. Ya must think I'm just from the devil."

But Timothy was grinning gamely, not as ashamed of his own blush. "Not at all. Even those of the church have senses of humor, Miss Kay. In fact, Sister Jude possesses a most singular wit."

Kay whistled. "Damn, Judy. That's impressive. I'm just a nitwit, myself."

"Don't say that, Kay!"

"Oh, you know I'm funnin,' Judy." She tugged at Jude's hair again, measuring and checking for damage. "I think I got all yar nasty ends off. You want me to take it up a little more?"

"Please." Jude checked the mirror. "Maybe to my neck? I need to be able to still pull it back under my wimple."

"Bold move, Sister." But Kay shrugged. "Will do."

Timothy coughed, leaning forward in his seat. "Perhaps...perhaps you shouldn't be too hasty, Sister." Both women regarded him in the mirror." He gestured amorphously. "A lot of hair at once."

"I think what ya got here is a traditional fellah," Kay offered. "He likes his ladies with long hair. Even if he nevah sees it. Right, Fathah?"

He chuckled gamely. "I'd never really thought about it."

"Well, it's up to you, Judy. It's yar head." Kay squeezed clumps of blonde hair affectionately. "But it's dry. So if we leave it, I'm gonna expect ya to take bettah care of it."

Jude checked the mirror. Timothy leaned forward still, chewing at the corner of his lip, awaiting her verdict on her own hair. He seemed so earnest in supporting it and she couldn't help imagining his fingers tugging it instead of Kay's. "I s'pose we'll keep it today, Kay." Her voice wavered.

Timothy sighed relief. "Alright then!" Kay clapped. "I'm throwin' these pins away, Judy."

"But -"

Kay held up a hand. "I'll sweep it up for ya' if ya absolutely have ta, but I'm gonna use a clip and not these evil bobby pins."

"Leave it down."

Again the women glanced to the mirror. Timothy sat back now, leaning on an elbow, finger brushing his lips thoughtfully. Kay blinked at Jude. "Yar boss has spoken."

"Indeed," Jude said. She held his eyes this time. "I suppose we're done, Kay."

"Yep." Kay removed the cape with a flourish. Jude rose. "Conditioner." Kay poked her shoulder kindly. "I mean it."

Jude nodded. "Yes, ma'am." She looked at Timothy who looked inordinately pleased with himself. "Since I have two bosses today."

"Yar turn, Father." Kay patted the seat. "Come on up here and pray to the saint of haircuts that I don't butcher yar barbery." She set about preparing her workstation again.

Timothy rose as Jude moved to sit, brushing against her. "Sorry," she murmured. Stopped short when she felt his hand boldly on her hair. She held her breath.

"Doesn't feel dry to me," he whispered confidentially.

Perhaps Kay had the heat turned up far too high. Jude could feel a light sweat forming along her hairline. She felt...trapped suddenly. "Er. Kay, I'm gonna leave yar money in the jar and pop next door for a minute." She caught Timothy's eyes in the mirror. "Knock out two of my errands at once. I'll be quick."

"All right, Judy." Kay was already combing and clipping. Jude made her escape.

It was a relief escaping from Kay. She was an excellent hairdresser, yes, and Timothy felt confident he was more dapper than ever, but she was quite the busybody. He slightly resented Jude for leaving him alone with the woman. And as Jude had not returned (quick, she'd said), he chose to wait outside on the sidewalk, unable to tolerate further interrogation.

Crisp air hit his newly revealed ears and neck. Kay's little bell jarred when her door closed. He looked right, then left, seeking a bench perhaps and found: "Jude."

She leaned against a nearby lamppost, one leg raised against it, smoking. "Sorry, Fathah." But she did not discard the cigarette. Simply raised two shopping bags sheepishly. "Woolworth's didn't carry one thing I needed, so I had to pop ovah to Filene's."

"No worries, Sister." The bags were rather small and he resisted imagining they might contain any sort of dainty feminine undergarments. He straightened his cuffs. "Your hairdresser friend was most entertaining."

She chuckled. "I'm sure." The wind touched her hair, a fine halo of gilt silk. He remembered how soft it had been. "She is a good person, though, Fathah. I've known her for almost -"

"I cast no aspersions on your character judgment, Jude. And I meant what I said." This wall of resistance...she always seemed so suspicious. "Our next adventure?"

She shook her head, discarding cigarette into the street. "I just need a few things for yar dinner tonight, but we can stop by the market near the hospital for that."

He fell into step beside her, back to the car. "Honestly, Sister. You do not have to cook for me this evening."

"You said it yourself, Father. I seek to please you." She glanced at him through a thin veil of blown hair. "And I enjoy doing it."

He wondered not idly how far she might go to please him. "I will confess I enjoy eating your concoctions. And of course - the company." And if he sought to please her with his words, he did.

At the supermarket, Jude offered to let him wait in the car. Had she sensed his somewhat out-of-place-ness? He gladly accepted her offer. It was difficult enough to be ogled in his starched collar and uniform of the Church. Let alone seeing her ogled _out_ of the uniform of the Church.

So again, he followed the progress of her hips and legs as she navigated the parking lot, stopping to wave thanks to a motorist who let her cross to the doors. She disappeared inside and he gave into the temptation to snoop. He'd already collected quite a number of prayer-worthy infarctions today, and expected more over dinner.

The Woolworth's bag was relatively uninteresting. Some sort of face cream. Chocolate. Black thread. Powder? Toothpaste. So her mouth would taste like cinnamon…

The other bag was the dangerous one. More black. He reached in hesitantly and felt silk. Momentarily closed his eyes. Silk. Seams and silk. He rolled a seam between his fingers, the thickness of it like a shank of her hair. He dug a little deeper and barely brushed lace and pulled his hand back guiltily. Rubbed at his face.

How easily did silk tear? Not easily he imagined. It seemed fairly strong. But there would be no need for tearing, would there? He imagined she would yield so sweetly, that she would open like a Bible, allowing him to slip the blood red ribbon of his virtue between her black silk thighs.

They were quiet on the way back to Briarcliff. The Monsignor seemed distracted, and Jude wondered what he was thinking. She hoped Kay hadn't said anything untoward, but doubted so. Rowdy her friend was, but respectful despite her mouth.

 _Have I done something?_ She thought back over the day. His attentions had been so kind, his appreciations so delicious. Melting and rich like the chocolates she'd purchased. _I shouldn't have pulled my hand away so abruptly._ He couldn't know. Surely couldn't understand that what he most likely saw as her innocent admiration was a burning Milagro of desire. That she would remove her own wanting heart from her chest and place it in his own if it would make him place a hand upon her head one more time. That she was his Magdalene - his repentant whore - who would anoint his feet with her own liquid lust.

That she wanted to belong to him.

Back at Briarcliff the spell broke as soon as the gates closed behind them. Parked in the darkened garages, she finally dared to speak. "Thank you for your accompaniment today, Father. I hope I haven't set yar work back."

"I should thank you, Sister." As they exited the car. "I truly had a fine outing."

"Good." She nodded, gathering her shopping. "Dinner at 9? After lockdown?"

"I will be eagerly anticipating it."

Immediately inside, a novice spotted them. "Father. There you are. Someone called from the Cardinal's office. Said you had a scheduled call? I told him you were busy and he said to call him back."

"Ah, yes." Guiltily, Timothy caught Jude's eyes. She gave him a surprised and playfully accusatory glare. "Thank you, Sister. I assure you it was of little importance." He gave Jude a wink as they parted ways in the kitchens.

Jude put away her groceries, hiding them on a back cooler shelf. Not that they would be disturbed. They never were. In her chambers, she kicked off her black heels and flopped into her favored chair. Curled her toes, stretching them, alternately rubbing each foot firmly. She fully expected the knock on her door, and smiled softly.

"Come in, Sister."

"How'd you know it was me?" Mary Eunice asked, softly closing the door behind her.

"I just had a feelin'." She reached into the Woolworth's bag on her ottoman. "Got ya' a present."

Eunice clapped a little in delight, a tiny squeal at the chocolate bar. "Oh, but Sister you said sweets are -"

"Chocolate doesn't count." Jude interrupted firmly, waving a finger. "It's kept women sane for centuries."

"Ohhhh." Eunice was already unwrapping the treat.

"Sit." Jude nudged the other wingback with her foot. "Did I miss anything exciting while I was out?"

The younger nun was lost in the haze of chocolate melting on her tongue. "Mmmmmm. Um. No?"

Jude raised a brow. "No?" There was a question mark there.

"Well."

"Oh, what, happened, Sister?" She rested her forehead on her hand, worried.

"It's probably nothing."

"It's always something."

"Well, Shelley saw you leaving with the Monsignor."

Jude's other brow rose. She tensed strangely. "...and?"

"And she said some _very_ inappropriate things and I locked her inside the Chapel and told her to pray for her wicked thoughts until I came back to get her."

Jude sighed. It was a sigh of control. "I see." She flicked her stockinged toes against one another. "What did she say?"

Mary Eunice shook her head tightly, mouth full of chocolate. "Oh, I really can't repeat, Sister. It was wicked, wicked."

Jude's eyes narrowed. "God will forgive ya for words that aren't yars, Eunice."

A deep breath. Eunice looked into her lap, focused on the last bits of her chocolate as if they could see her through this great difficulty. "Well. She said that the two of you were going to exorcise your demons. And I got scared, Sister! So I said you would have told me if there was an exorcism and that you would most definitely be in your habit. And she said not that kind of exorcise and called me an idiot." A side-bar here. "She said she meant 'exercise' like -"

"Yes, yes, I know what she meant." Jude interrupted tersely. She was mentally picking a can for Shelley as Eunice spoke.

"Oh, and that you wouldn't be in your habit and you wouldn't be wearing anything, at all. And I said you would never be so scandalous and that what she spoke was all against God _and_ the Monsignor _and_ you! And she said that _you_ were going to be the one all against the Monsignor and she made a very lewd gesture, Sister. Very lewd." Eunice shook her head against the image. Jude tried harder and harder to ignore the heat spreading into her chest and neck. "So I slapped the table like this -" she slapped the little table between them firmly and Jude couldn't help jumping "- and I said Shelley you come with me right now to the chapel and pray for your vile thoughts so that Christ can come inside you and absolve you. But she wouldn't stop laughing and she said that Christ and the Monsignor were going to come inside _you_ , which didn't make much sense at all because the Monsignor is not a holy spirit, but she _is_ crazy so I just ignored that. So Carl dragged her to the chapel for me and I told her to get on her knees before God and start praying for forgiveness and she did." A sigh of relief at her discomforting report completed. She popped another piece of chocolate. Jude silently prayed for patience and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Did I do alright, Sister? I tried to imagine what you might do."

"You did well, yes, Sister." But her nostrils flared despite her calm demeanor. "I would like to see Shelley in my office first thing tomorrow morning, please."

Eunice nodded. "Of course, Sister Jude." She stood, cheeks pink from chocolate and probably embarrassment. "Thank you for the treat."

"You're welcome, little sistah."

Eunice headed for the door then paused inside it. "Oh! Shelley had told me to ask you something important."

Jude cast her eyes to the ceiling, glad Eunice couldn't see her face. "And what was that?"

"Um…" She could tell Mary was struggling to remember the verbiage and braced herself. "Oh yes! To ask you if your prayers were answered when you were on your knees before the Monsignor." Jude's jaw flexed. "I explained that we didn't pray before the Monsignor. I think she's sadly confused about our faith. I hope this experience today will bring her some clarity."

"I hope so, too, Mary Eunice." Jude witheld a groan of frustration. "Good work in your...ministering."

She could _feel_ Mary Eunice's swell of pride. "Thank you, Sister!" The door closed and Jude leaned forward, cradling her head in her hands.

She napped, a rare luxury. But she needed her strength for that evening. Nine pm was late for cooking, and not to mention the recipe was a challenging, time consuming one. She'd cooked for Timothy a few times before, remembering fondly the first time.

It had been an accident, really. They'd spent a terrible day with Mother Superior and even the Archbishop of Boston, touring Briarcliff, poring over financial reports, blueprints, equipment requisition forms, meal plans, patient files… Meeting after meeting with staff, interviews with possible new staff, reassignments and delegations of duties… Just dreadful. They'd managed a light lunch delivered in the Monsignor's office, but had remained busy after that.

Their official visitors hadn't left until nearly 10 pm. Jude recalled standing on Briarcliff's stoop at the Monsignor's side, waving good-bye to the black car driving into the night, both of them smiling pleasantly. As soon as the car was out of sight, they'd both nearly collapsed from relief and exhaustion.

" _Sister Jude, I must laud you as a woman of singular patience and fortitude."_

" _Monsignor Howard, I can say the same of you as a man."_

" _I think we'll make an excellent team."_

" _I agree."_

" _But I am...painfully hungry right now." He'd laughed, placing a hand on her shoulder._

 _His hand, his smile, his laugh. His need. She'd felt an almost immediate need to please him, a desire to experience his pleasure. "I can cook something up for us in the kitchen, I'm certain, Monsignor. If you'll eat with me?"_

 _The simple joy of him accepting her offer was thrilling and that frightened her. Couldn't be normal to obsess so over a person. Absolutely wasn't acceptable in her case; he was a priest, and she a nun. Two people devoted to God._

 _And for him, that devotion was all he'd ever known. Jude, however, knew the delight in intimacy. The pleasure in a man's touch. Knew those things could be missed, needed, wanted in such a way that prayer could not erase._

 _She'd rifled quickly through Briarcliff's cabinets. Nearly everything there was canned. There was always bread, though: muffins, loaves, twists, buns, bread of all sorts. And there were eggs. Thinking quickly, she'd thrown together Eggs Benedict and found that her Hollandaise sauce still stood up to par. Timothy's praise had filled her belly more than the meal had, and the two married themselves to a Thursday night tradition._

Tonight, she planned something very special. In the nightstand by her bed were two books: her Bible, and Julia Child's _Mastering the Art of French Cooking_. The latter had belonged to her mother, and was one of the only trappings of her former life she'd kept. Even living from seedy motel to seedy motel, the cookbook had come with her. She kept it for her mother's notes, still scribbled in many margins, an old, faded shopping list still tucked inside it as a makeshift bookmark.

Coq-au-vin tonight. Her mother had made it only a few times, regarding it as 'special occasion' food. It was a hot labor of intense love. She remembered watching her mother nurse flames, stirring her multiple pans at once, Judy's mouth watering to the smells of butter, garlic, wine and bacon…

Timothy was well worth the labor.

He always felt somewhat naughty walking the halls of Briarcliff at night. Patients locked away, staff at skeleton crew. It was at its quietest (never truly quiet). Timothy hurried down the staircase, hands in pockets, past the common room, down the main corridor. Another short set of stairs and he slowed, sniffing. Something smelled….divine. His salivary glands kicked in well before he peered through the kitchen doorway.

Jude had already set their table, wine glasses (though she never partook), water goblets, a bowl of bread, and what looked to be a green salad. He smiled, simply watching for a moment.

She'd not changed from their outing and he was glad. Her hair was tucked again, that same flyaway curl seeming wet with probably sweat. The gas stove was no doubt hot, and it looked as though every burner was busy. She occasionally wiped a graceful hand on the starched white apron and consulted an open cookbook. How long had she already been cooking?

He watched her reach for a match - very peculiar - striking it briskly on the cutting board beside her. His forehead creased. She stood back from the stove, long arm reaching with the match, and he gasped when the sautee pan burst into controlled flame. But Jude seemed nonplused, slimply shook the pan, pouring wine as the flames died.

He slipped in while she was distracted, approaching her workstation with great interest. "Good evening, Sister."

"Tim - Fathah!" She caught herself. "You're a little early."

"How long have you been cooking?" He asked, tempted to simply snatch one of those braising mushrooms.

"Ah - about an hour. It's nearly done. Why don't ya have a seat?"

"Can I help?" He moved behind her, to her other side, examining a plate of crispy bacon chunks. He grabbed one before she took the saucer, smiling.

"No, Fathah." She dumped the bacon into the sautee.

"Mmm." The bacon alone was fine. "Very well," he said. "I'll get out of your way."

In minutes, she was serving him. Dipping chicken breast onto his plate, some concoction of mushrooms and bacon, with herb potatoes. He waited for her to sit opposite him, amused that she remembered the apron only after she sat, tossed it frustrated onto the sink. She sighed, exhausted. The shank of hair shifted along her jawline. She was glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. It wasn't unattractive.

Eager to eat, Timothy extended his hands, and Jude took them in her own. They bowed heads in tandem, eyes closing. "Bless, O Lord, this food that it may be an effective and salutary remedy for mankind. For Thy name's sake, grant that all who partake of it may obtain health of body and safety of soul. Through Christ our Lord, Amen."

"Amen," Jude repeated solemnly. She made to withdraw her hands, but he only released one. She looked to the other where he held it firmly.

"Jude."

"Yes, Fathah?"

"Bless you, as well, for this feast of such obvious toil. Your dedication and efforts - even outside of your culinary industry - are not unappreciated by me."

She swallowed. The delicate movement of her throat precursed moist brown eyes. "Thank you, Monsignor."

Finally he released her hand, but only barely, enjoying the friction of her fingers leaving his own. "And what have you prepared for us this evening, Sister?"

She cleared her throat. "Coq-au-vin."

He took up his utensils, manners less important than meal. Timothy simply loved food. And wine, which Jude poured for him freely. And this meal was no exception to her usual talents for cooking. "Sister. You have excelled my greatest expectations. This is truly divine."

"I'm glad you're enjoying it, Fathah." (Her chest hurt from the joy of his appreciation.)

"These potatoes may well be perfect, Jude." His eyes closed as he chewed, and he felt her eyes on him. "And the textures...the richness of the meat." Suddenly, he opened his eyes and caught hers. "It's flawless."

Her blush was not from the heat of the kitchen, he knew. "Well," she gestured. "Eat it and stop talking about it before you find somethin' ya don't like." She laughed.

The wine was good, too. She'd picked a Chianti. He wished she would drink with him. Wished there was a wine to subtly ease the nervous filly before him. Not that her nervousness wasn't delicious in its own way.

He watched her eat. Knowing that feeling his eyes on her made her shiver. They spoke little tonight, and most of the speaking was unfortunately business. New linens were coming tomorrow. Meds would be delivered around noon. The bakery truck would arrive at 4 pm.

Incessant, neverending work. She managed all of it, somehow. "Briarcliff is flourishing in your hands, Jude. Just as I expected."

"We've a fair piece to cover yet, Fathah."

Such modesty in her Boston lilt… How out of place it was, alongside his refined British tones. But that was simply part of Jude's paradox. Beauty. Brains. Strength. Fragility. They would make quite a pair someday, he imagined. Him as Archbishop and her by his side. Ever faithful Jude. Unswaying. Defending his every decision. Supporting him all the way to Vatican City.

He'd visited the Archbishop of Boston once in his home. It was lavish to say the least. A penthouse apartment atop a glimmering white office building. Thick, ivory carpeting. Opulent gold chandeliers. Plush furnishings flush in blood red velvet. The bed alone - with its massive posts - could have slept four people with comfort to move about.

Plenty of room to stretch his favored Sister. Ample room for her long legs to spread wide as he rose and fell between them. Would she clutch him, he wondered, passion pressing her nails into his skin? Or would she be reticent, gripping the white cotton sheets with her head turned from his gaze?

He almost hoped for reticence. For teeth biting lips, tightly controlled moans. It would be an enjoyable challenge - breaking her. Bringing screams from her. Their cardinal sins secret in the chambers of God, he could strip away her habit as easily as her resistance, revealing the black seams beneath. Bend her til she bowed in prayer, her collar become his leash, fucking his virtue into her, the music of her breathless prayers to God and to himself.

"Fathah?"

Had she spoken? "Hm?"

"Yar a million miles away," she mused, a timid smile.

"I apologize." He tried a smile, himself. She unmanned him. Tested his vows. He hated it and longed for it, needed the desire like oxygen. "Your magnificent meal has me quite distracted."

"Well. I shouldn't tell ya, then...but there's dessert."

"Sweets, Sister?"

She rose from the table, to the refrigerator. Extracted a chill plate and brought it to the table. "Now, Fathah. I was just tellin' Mary Eunice earlier how chocolate doesn't count."

"I see." He grinned. "Exceptions."

"I hope it's an exception," she murmured, cutting what appeared to be a torte. "French chocolate cake." She placed a slice by his plate. He watched fascinated as she dusted powdered sugar atop it. "And ah - there's coffee. In the press, there." She pointed. It was nearer him than her. "If ya like."

All of this for him… "Jude."

"Yes, Fa -"

"Timothy."

Another bird-like quiver in her throat. "Timothy," she whispered.

"I shall say this again. And you must not take my words lightly." Her anticipation fed his erection. "You are my greatest endowment on His earth. I do not deserve your service."

But her endowments were great, as well. And he _did_ deserve those. They _should_ belong to him. _And_ her service. All of the services she could offer.

"Timothy, my service is what drives me. To the Church. To Briarcliff. To you. I assure you it gives me purpose. And...pleasure."

So simple in his mind's eye. Sliding his chair back from the table, never losing contact with her eyes. "Show me your service now, Jude."

She rose, under his every command, knelt penitent before him, her fingers eager at his trousers. When he was in her mouth - a fallen angel's mouth - he found the zipper of her dress and bared her satin-ensconced spine, tracing it with his fingers. She hummed a hymn up his shaft. "Jude, your devotion is indeed great."

Her eyes, hot molten brown now, met his, her cheeks still hollow around his hardness, sucking his holy sacrament. "Ugh." He took hold of her hair, tugged it free roughly and pulled up, up. "Rise, sister. Show me your body of Christ."

She turned shyly as he slid the blue dress over satin clad hips and silk seams. The thin straps of her slip snapped easily and she lowered her arms as he removed it. He smelled her sweat, the sweat of her labor, of flame and wine, trailed his nose, his mouth across that fragile clavicle. Did she softly sob when he bit?

He pressed her against the table, pushed until she lay across plates, across the remnants of their meal. He tugged the silvery slip forcefully down her from, just revealing her breasts. His fingers pushed up the lacy hems until her greatest secret was revealed. Gripped her knees and pulled her to the table edge. She whimpered. "Fathah!"

"Sister Jude," he hissed against her lips, not kissing her, but promising her. "My holy Eucharist. Satin Sacrament."

Her fingers caressed his face, shaking uncontrollably. "This is my body," she whispered. "Which is broken for you."

A tear slipped from her eye as he shoved past her holy gates and she was hot as hell inside, crying out. "Shhh, Sister." He clamped a hand over her mouth, battering the table with her back, her slender neck arching as though she was in exorcism. And the pleasure that washed over him could only be the power of God. "Christ, Jude," he gasped aloud. "To you be the glory forever!"

"Mary Eunice?"

Jude's voice crashed him to reality. She was glancing past him. He turned. "Why, good evening, Sister Mary Eunice," he intoned. His voice cracked just slightly. He cleared his throat.

The young nun was clearly not expecting to see them, opening the refrigerator door. "Oh, Monsignor! Sister Jude!" She took in their meal. "I am so sorry to interrupt."

"What are you doing?" Jude asked, forehead creased. Mary Eunice chewed her lip for a moment, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. She was on the verge of tears. "Eunice!" Jude snapped.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry, Sister!" Eunice melted. "I've done something so terrible, so awful! I can't be forgiven! I can't -"

Jude rose. Timothy watched her go to the girl. "Stop. Stop, Eunice." Jude dried tears with tender thumbs. "What can you possibly have done?"

Eunice's lip trembled as she met Jude's eyes. "I - I forgot about Shelley. I left her locked in the Chapel all day! She hasn't had a bite to eat so I - "

"Oh, Sister Mary Eunice." Jude chuckled low in her throat, reaching over her charge's head to close the refrigerator door. "I think a day's fast will probably benefit Shelley after her transgression. Don't you think?"

"Um…"

"Is she still locked in the Chapel?"

"Yes, Sister."

"Good. If she wasn't praying earlier, she's praying now." Jude cupped Eunice's face in both hands. "God will take care of her tonight, Mary Eunice. And I'll know exactly where to find her in the morning. Yes?"

Eunice sighed relief, so assured by Jude's words. "Yes, Sister."

"Now." Jude turned her toward the door. "You go ta bed, little Sister. Say your prayers, and include Shelley's wretched soul." _And mine_ , she added silently. "And get a good night's sleep."

"Thank you, Sister Jude." On her way up the steps, she peered back. "Good night, Monsignor!"

"Good night, Sister Mary Eunice!" He called back kindly.

Jude took her seat again. "I apologize for that, Fathah."

"Shelley is locked in the chapel?"

"Apparently."

"Fasting?"

"Apparently. And praying!" She added importantly.

"Why?" He shook the last vestiges of fantasy from his head, pleased with this distraction.

"She um...She said inappropriate things to Mary Eunice today and Mary Eunice decided her punishment in my absence." Jude ate cake. "I think she made the right decision."

"What could Shelley have said to upset our dearest Sister so?" Jude poked at the cake, not meeting his eyes. Hoping he would move on. But he did not. Just stared expectantly. "Jude?"

"Oh, fine." She dropped her napkin into her lap. It would be ruination. He would never be seen with her again, in habit or not. Never another day like today, ideal in his company. "Shelley saw us leaving the hospital together and said...unseemly things. About us."

"Ah." Timothy ate his cake, too. Calmly. Poured a coffee. "Well, we shall simply have to use better discretion for our next outing."

She hoped she hid her delight but doubted it. Felt the smile threatening to crack her face wide open. "Yes, Fathah." Cleared her throat. "Um. I'll just start tidying up."

He watched her move about the kitchen for a moment. Searched for any pangs of guilt over his earlier thoughts. The images. Sins in the mind were still sins, after all. But...he found no guilt. Instead a most peculiar sense of peace. Some great knowledge bestowed. As if it was genuinely God's will to have the woman. His eyes narrowed on her hips as he rose to help her clean. She bent over the table for a glass and he stepped behind her, ensuring she would back into him when she rose.

He raised his face to the heavens, awaiting the press of her body.

She would love Rome...

 **Author Notes: With a background in psychology and Catholocism, I can't resist this shit. For your consideration:**

 **Narcissistic Personality Disorder**

 **1\. Has a grandiose sense of self-importance**

 **2\. Is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love**

 **3\. Believes that he or she is "special" and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people**

 **4\. Requires excessive admiration**

 **5\. Has a sense of entitlement**

 **6\. Is interpersonally exploitative**

 **7\. Lacks empathy**

 **8\. Is often envious of others of believes that others are envious of him/her**

 **9\. Shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes**

 **Borderline Personality Disorder**

 **1\. Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment**

 **2\. A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating extremes of idealization and devaluation**

 **3\. Identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self**

 **4\. Impulsivity in at least two potentially self-damaging areas: spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating**

 **5\. Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats or self-mutilating**

 **6\. Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g. intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety lasting a few hours and rarely days)**

 **7\. Chronic feelings of emptiness**

 **8\. Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger**

 **9\. Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms**

 **Doubtful we need to specify who's who here. Information taken from the DSM-IV TR. Thanks for reading! One follow-up chapter coming very soon.**


	2. Better Man

Jude bathed. Dinner with Timothy had been a rousing success, if a sweaty one. She was tired. Tired from cooking. Tired from the talk of business. Tired from the unrelenting guilt of her sacreligious passions. She pressed her washcloth to her eyes hard. Saw swirling light and color. Tried to cover the unbidden images of her fingers slipping free his starched collar, his hands slipping up her thighs, masculine arms braced by her head and the cool expanse of his back heating beneath her caress.

It wasn't working. She'd be praying double tonight, with an early morning ahead of her. And yet more business.

She dried and dressed briskly, her long gown warm and comfy, bed calling to her. But first. She knelt. Drew her chaplet and began the count. But her prayers were interrupted by voices in the corridor.

"Missy, you calm ya tits down right now or I'll lock ya in solitary without a backward glance." Frank's voice.

"You calm your tits, old man! I have rights!" Jude groaned. Shelley. "Locked up all day in that holy hell hole. No water! No food! A fucking string of anal beads with a Jesus dildo and told to pray?!"

"And that was Sister Mary Eunice's call." Frank hissed. Jude went to her door, throwing a black shawl over her shoulders, preparing for a confrontation.

"Yeah, well, Sister Mary Eunice is Sister Jude's little pet psycho! So guess who's gonna hear about it?"

"Lower your voice!" Frank snapped. They were right outside her door. "I'm gonna let ya talk to her, because I'm legally bound to do so, but I swear ta God if you take a tone with Sister Jude -"

"Oh, fuck me!" Shelly hissed. "You too!? Does everyone hear lick her prayerful pussy? Maybe I'm missing out!"

"Missy -"

But Frank's comeuppance faltered. Jude opened the door, an expression of what she hoped was quiet fury on her features. Frank looked sheepish as hell. Shelley stood just behind him, chin held high, blonde hair a matted mess. Furious. "Frank. Shelley. To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of hosting this _late_ evening?"

"I'm sorry, Sistah -" Frank started.

"He's not sorry." Shelley pushed past the security, fists clenched at her sides, spitting fire. "Nobody in this godforsaken shithole is sorry!"

Frank pushed the patient back behind him, raising his baton in threat (although he'd be hard-pressed to hit a woman). "Sistah Jude, I found Shelley locked up in the Chapel. She claims that -"

"Yes, I know," Jude interrupted calmly.

"Oh."

"You knew?!" Shelley jolted forward, Frank catching her round the waist. Jude was completely unfazed. "You fucking frozen cunt! Bride of christ, my ass! The devil himself wouldn't have you! That's cruel! "

"Let her go, Frank."

"Jude, are you sure about that?"

Even Shelley seemed surprised. "I'm quite sure." He released her. Shelley didn't bolt. She didn't attack. She took a step toward Jude, an almost calm one. "Mary Eunice told me that she locked you in the Chapel, Shelley. This afternoon."

"When you got back from feathering your lust nest with the Monsignor?" Shelley challenged.

"She also told me why she sent you there."

Frank looked between the two women uncomfortably, scratching his head. "Because Sister Goody Two Shoes can't take a fucking joke!" Shelley spat.

Jude raised a hand. "Mary Eunice is a wealth of goodness, Shelley. You should learn from her."

"She left me -"

"An oversight." Jude stated simply. "This evening she came to me wracked with guilt, determined ta feed ya. Food _and_ apologies, no doubt. She was overworked in my absence, doubtless. She didn't mean ta leave ya there." She took pleasure in a slow grin. "I'm the one who told her ta leave ya tonight. Felt like it would be good for ya." She nodded toward Frank. "But I was remiss in informing my trusted security. Sorry, Frank."

He shrugged. "No problem, Sistah."

Shelley fumed between the two of them. "You're apologizing to him?! When I'm the one who was treated inhumanely! Like a dog somebody forgot to feed?!"

Jude leaned forward. "Like a bitch in heat," she specified quietly.

Shelley _did_ bolt this time. Frank was quick to grab her. "What'd I say?" He asked, struggling with the nympho. "What did I tell ya', Shelley?"

"You're one ta talk!" Shelley spat back at Jude over Frank's reminders. "I see the way he looks at you. The way you look at him. Your pious priest! Hypocrites. Hypocrites!" Her anger had brought her near tears. "Married to God but fucking each other? That's a laugh."

"You're digging a hole for yarself, Shelley," Jude pointed in her face. "You'll be wishing I'd left you locked in the chapel when I'm done with ya tomorrow morning."

"Why wait til tomorrow what you can do today, _Sister_ Jude? Huh?" Shelley still struggled against Frank. "Or are you just too tuckered out from your passion of the christ to hold a cane tonight?"

Jude's nostrils flared. She clenched her jaw painfully. Shelley laughed maniacal, seeing she was starting to get to the nun. "Christ, that's so rich. Honestly. Does he call you sister while he fucks you? D'you call him Father?"

"Frank. Take Shelley to my office. I'll be there in just a moment." She turned, but Shelley kept going.

"Got something to prove, huh, Sister? Still got some fight left in ya? Sweet dreams tonight after you stripe my ass?"

"I'm looking forward to it, yes," Jude replied, nearing the end of her tolerance. Frank was pulling Shelley back into the corridor.

"Tiny bed ya got in there, Sister! But I guess you two are only missionary anyway, right? Any hole to minister the soul!"

Jude slammed her door. Ripped a habit from its hanger and wrapped her wimple over still-wet hair. Her hands shook with anger. Justifiable anger. But tears stung the back of her throat. She really needed to gain control. Had nearly slipped already. She stepped into slippers and hung her chaplet around her neck. "Too late for this shit," she muttered, then crossed herself.

Frank stood outside her office door. He had a key, and had obviously already sent Shelley inside. "I'm sorry, Jude," he whispered softly.

"Hardly your fault, Frank," she whispered back.

"I'll wait here till you're done and take her down to solitary?"

"Lovely," Jude replied.

In her office, Shelley stood before her desk, tapping a foot impatiently. "Pick a big one tonight, Sister. Because I don't need to be able to sit down ta kick your ass."

"Lay a finger on me," Jude hissed. "Try it."

"It's not my fingers ya want on ya, Sister Jude."

"Stop it!" Jude whirled on her. "Yar filthy. A filthy girl with a filthy mouth and I don't think a caning can cure ya. In fact, I think you'd enjoy it."

"What can I say? I guess I want some hot nun action, too, Sister. Everybody else in this place is obsessed with you. I wanna see what I'm missing."

"Sit down, Shelley." This threw her. "Sit down!" Jude shouted, twisting the chair violently. Shelley sat. Jude opened a drawer at her desk. Extracted a rosary. "Here." She thrust it at Shelley.

Shelley stared, refusing to take the strand. "Your pet sister gave me a set earlier. I ate 'em."

"Take them."

"I said no!"

Jude calmly stood before Shelley. "Take them, or I'll stripe yar ass so bad even Dr. Arden will wince."

Slowly, hesitantly, mistrustingly, Shelley reached for the beads. As soon as they were in her hand, Jude knelt before her. Shelley scrambled a bit in her chair, nearly tipping it, completely bowled over by the imposing nun's actions. "What the fuck?"

"Not tonight, Shelley. I'm afraid yar not my type." Jude put her hands on Shelley's knees. "Are ya familiar with St. Augustine?"

"Is he the patron saint of nuns scaring the shit of you? Cuz that's about where I am right now, Sister Jude."

"St. Augustine struggled to overcome his lust, Shelley. His sins of the flesh. I think you can draw on his lessons and strength now. We're gonna pray his prayer together. I'm gonna teach it to ya."

Shelley looked on the verge of panic. "Can't - can't you just cane me, Sister?"

"No." Jude grabbed Shelley's head, forced it down. "Bow yar head. Ready?"

"No!" Shelley freed her head, bobbed up like a weeble.

Undeterred, Jude pulled it back down more forcefully. Clutched the dirty blonde locks. "I said bow yar disgusting head!" Shelley whimpered. "Now. Here we go. Breathe in me, O Holy Spirit - repeat after me, Shelley. You'll never learn just listenin'."

"B-b-breathe in me, O Holy Night -"

"Spirit!" Jude slapped her head briskly.

"Ow! Damn! Spirit!" Shelley corrected.

"That my thoughts may all be holy…" Jude commenced slowly.

"That my thoughts may all be holy…" Shelley's voice trembled.

But Jude's remained firm. "Act in me, O Holy Spirit, that my work too may be holy…"

"Act in me, O Holy Spirit, that my work too may be holy…"

"Draw my heart, O Holy Spirit, that I love but what is holy…" Jude watched Shelley, seeking any semblance of piety in her praying. Her head was still bowed, at least, eyes closed…

"Draw my heart, O Holy Spirit, that I love butts." Jude slapped her head again. "Ow! Shit!" Another slap. "Fuck!" Slap. "Jesus Chr-" This time, Jude's hand clamped over the woman's mouth.

Shelly shuggled but Jude perfected a sleeper hold and continued loudly over the grunts and goans. "Strengthen me, O Holy Spirit, to defend all that is Holy. Guard me then, O Holy Spirit, that I always may be Holy. Amen." Shelley stilled, seeming to surrender. But Jude was no fool. "Yar a smart girl, Shelley. Ya may be a slut, but I've nevah said yar an idiot. D'you think you can pray to St. Augustine now, or shall I give you one more round like this to get it settled in?"

Shelley shook her head as best she could and Jude released her. Surprisingly, she didn't fight. Didn't really react at all. "Well?" Jude pushed her chin up. "Let's hear it." Monotonously, but obediently, Shelley recited the prayer, clutching the rosary in her lap. "Very good." Jude settled back onto her heels and joined in with her own Chaplet. Her head bent to Shelley's, foreheads drifting closer together until they touched.

It was some time, their soft voices becoming hoarse, before Jude realized Shelley was barely keeping her seat. And even Jude was lightheaded with exhaustion. It seemed they were keeping each other upright, but only barely. "Shhh." Jude put a hand on Shelley's shoulder. "That's enough now." She used the shoulder to pull herself to her feet, swaying a bit. Shelley's fight had dissipated. Her eyes were glazed from fatigue and hunger.

Jude looked down on her nearly expressionless. So weary… "We all fight the desires of the flesh, Shelley. Even me. Even the Monsignor. Even the saints. Christ himself. But we fight. It's one of the places we find strength." She slipped the rosary from between Shelley's weak fingers. "You have the strength to espouse filth to an impressively artistic degree. But I can't abide lies, or the sullying of a holy man's reputation. Or my own. Understand?"

A very small nod.

"If ya do it again, I'll strap ya upside down ta one of Arden's tables and personally drip holy water up yar nostrils until we flush that filth out. Understand that, too?"

A slightly more urgent nod.

"Good. Now. Because I am a compassionate woman of the Cloth -" she paused just in case Shelley wanted to comment, but happily continued uninterrupted "- I'm gonna have Frank take ya to the kitchens. Where you can grab yarself a bite ta eat before he puts ya ta bed."

"Thank you, Sister." Barely a whisper. Shelley stood slowly, head still downcast. Did she truly feel penitent? Or just weak from hunger? Jude suspected the latter , but hoped for the first. She opened her door.

Frank had gotten a chair and was lounging across the hall, reading the newspaper. He rose when he saw Shelley shuffling out. "Frank, please take Shelley to the kitchen so's she can have some dinner before ya send her to bed."

Frank's brows rose. "Solitary, Sistah Jude?"

"No. She can sleep in her own bed tonight."

"Yes, Sistah." He seemed surprised by Shelley's calm. He hadn't heard any lashes… "Come on, Shelley. Seems it's yar lucky night." Jude locked her office and started down the hall to her own chambers, bed calling more loudly than ever.

"Sister Jude?"

She turned. "Yes, Shelley?"

"I'm sorry."

Jude's lips pursed. She considered. Brightened slightly at the thought that her chosen prayer had worked. "I accept yar apology, Shelley."

"I'll...I'll tell Mary Eunice, too. And - and the Monsignor."

"I'm certain they'll both appreciate yar newfound sympathetic nature."

"But Sister…"

A frustrated sigh. "Yes, Shelley?"

"You deserve better than him. Trust me."

Jude was stymied. Her mouth opened, but there were no words. She watched Shelley shuffle on, and Frank gave her a confused shrug before following.

The clock by her bedside read 2:30. One of those times where it's either way too late, or way too early. Her knees ached. Her throat was dry. Jude drank a few handfuls of water from her little sink and fell into bed. She closed her eyes, clutched a pillow, and imagined a strong pair of masculine arms wrapping around her from behind. _His_ masculine arms.

Shelley's words stopped the fantasy, haunting. _You deserved better than him._ What the hell did that even mean? Jude squeezed her eyes shut, inviting the arms back. "Words of a lunatic," she murmured, drifting into arms and images of embraces. She dreamed in color. She dreamed in red slips.

There simply couldn't be a better man.

(Title Credit this chapter: Pearl Jam) 


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